


fractured moonlight on the sea

by stranded_star



Category: Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ethical Dilemmas, Multi, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranded_star/pseuds/stranded_star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His heart beats erratically to the thud of the automobile trundling away, their voices trapped in his head like a record." </p><p>Percy/Annabeth/Nico. Based loosely on the world of "Never Let Me Go," by Kazuo Ishiguro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

In a lab in Cambridge, a man pores over a petri dish, thick with embryo culture. The light flickers sharp above him, and his colleague stares rather earnestly at the ceiling, thumbing at the desk absently. 

“You reckon it will be nice tomorrow?” 

The man straightens. “Shouldn’t matter, I suppose. No sun ever lasts these days.” 

His companion grunts in agreement. “This one almost done, Morgan?” 

The man named Morgan sighs softly, nodding. In the morning it will be shipped to the birthing center, and a breeder will take care of him. He knows it’s a boy – he has a knack for this sort of thing. His lungs will be strong and healthy, but his heart will not last. They will take him to the care center early. 

As they move away from the lab table, his eyes flicker to the rain slipping past the small, dark window. Another one gone. 

***

“Hi.” 

Nico looks up grudgingly, a corner of his eye still trained on the skeleton effigy. He thinks it is from a country called Mexico, but he is not sure how he knows this. 

The boy that stares at him has vivid green eyes, that flicker and shift like the sea. His hair is messy and his shirt is untucked – Nico itches to fix it, so he settles for straightening his small pile of skeletons. 

The boy plops down next to him. “M’name’s Percy.” He chews thoughtfully on his fingernails. “I like your toys.” 

“They’re not toys,” Nico snaps, and instantly regrets it. He blushes, and says quietly. “They’re effigies.” 

“What’s that?” Percy is bold and curious and Nico isn’t sure if he likes it. 

“They’re dolls from another country.” 

Nico huffs a breath of relief when Percy doesn’t scoff like the other boys. “That’s cool. Can I hold one?” 

Nico nods shyly. Percy snatches up one of them and traces the bright red lips and painted eyes. His face is wide and open and something drops in Nico’s stomach. 

“I’m Nico,” he says, and Percy smiles, big and bright and beautiful. 

***

They spend most days planning elaborate plots to get out of Hailsham. Nico suggests poisoning the head Guardian, to which Percy shakes his head violently and frowns at Nico. I don’t like death, he says, and Nico shrugs. Death does not bother him. 

Percy says that the most important thing is to get out before the shiny cars come to take them away. “What if I leave without you,” he asks Nico, wide-eyed and anxious. “Then we’ll never see the sea.” 

Nico doesn’t understand why Percy loves the sea so much. You’ve never even seen it, he points out sometimes, but Percy doesn’t care. “It reminds me of my mother,” he always replies, dreamily, as if he knows his mother – the shape of her eyes and the smell of her hair. Nico doesn’t want to remind him that she is probably dead, lost in the dark shifting ecosystem beneath. If she existed at all. 

They are all orphans here, and Nico clings to Percy like he is a train that is hurtling toward some indefinite fate. 

***

Annabeth has hair the color of the ochre paint he sometimes uses for his skeleton paintings. Her eyes are stormy and fierce, and she terrifies him. She always wears her curls in a ponytail, with golden wisps escaping, and her dress is always neat. 

Percy is smitten. 

He says she is the prettiest girl at Hailsham, and that he wants them all to be friends. Nico doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to share Percy, and so he glares at Annabeth’s back when he sees her, unconsciously shifting closer to Percy as he does. 

But when Percy shouts at the other boys and scampers off to play catch, Annabeth sits by Nico and offers him broken crayons. 

“I thought you might like them,” she admits. “Your drawings are impressive.” 

Annabeth is the only nine year old that uses words like impressive. Nico wipes his nose, and squints up at her. She gazes impassively ahead, but her mouth twitches up at the corner. Her eyes are beautiful, and the thought shocks him. Percy is the only thing he has thought beautiful. 

Perhaps they can be friends. 

***

They sit together at meals, scanning their wrists in a neat row. Percy slurps his milk down loudly and smacks his lips, and Annabeth hits him, unimpressed by his boyish enthusiasm for food. 

“For goodness’ sake, Percy, use your utensils,” she snaps, and Percy shoots her a beatific smile. 

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?” he asks, and Annabeth grumbles into her napkin. 

But Nico watches pink spread across her cheeks, and wonders if Percy J. just has that effect on everyone. 

***

No one likes Nico’s drawings. He draws scratchy, charcoal-stained images of skeletons. Sometimes he gives them brightly colored beads to wear, or an eerily toothy smile. The Guardians cluck their tongues and tuck them away, but Nico’s scowl protects him against a reporting to the Head Guardian. 

Annabeth’s pictures are neat and detailed, crafting bird heads or elegant facades. The Guardians coo over her, because she is smart and capable and creative, and Nico is only her darker shadow. Percy laughs and scrawls bright fish and octopi and horses into a blue canvas. Always the ocean. 

When they are drawing, Percy shoots spitballs at Miss Amelia’s bent old back because she once called Nico “morbid.” Percy doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but it must be bad. Annabeth rolls her eyes and hugs Nico, but clutches Percy’s hand reassuringly. Nico knows she loves Percy for defending him. 

Her small hand fits into Percy’s grubby one easily. Somehow, Nico thinks, he became her lifeline as well. 

***

“Why are we here?” 

Today is a normal Saturday morning. Percy stares at the Head Guardian boldly. Annabeth narrows her eyes. Nico can almost see the disdain rolling off of her at Percy’s foolishness. 

Miss Ann stares back at him. Her rigid bun stretches her eyes wide, and she looks like some mythical harpy, ready to snatch him up and eat him alive. 

“You have an important purpose,” she says curtly. “You have been brought into the world to serve your society. As we all do. We shall simply contribute different things.” 

Her eyes bore into Nico as she addresses Percy. “You are a good boy, Perseus J. It would befit you to not ask as many questions.” 

She turns away and the hall is filled with the chatter of breakfast; Percy shrugs. 

“I guess that’s that,” he says, always cheerful, and Annabeth leans carefully against his shoulder.

“You’re so dumb,” she sighs, and Percy grins, and Nico wonders what Miss Ann means, wonders how long he has to live, wonders if her cryptic words explain the erratic thud of his heart, ticking uneasily as if it were a bomb. 

***

The Sales are the best part of every month: Percy and Annabeth pool their tokens to buy Nico unusual art supplies and magazine scraps and strange bits of sea glass. They claim this is because he is a year younger and therefore needs more fun things. Annabeth clasps his shoulder solemnly, and tells him that they’re a family, and Percy and she will always take care of him. 

Nico thinks that Annabeth can be a tad melodramatic, but at 11, she is starting to talk about the other girls, and Luke, who is 15 and just so cute, and Nico has to hear it all, because Percy just won’t get it. Nico nods and pretends like he understands, but all he knows is that he loves Annabeth, albeit grudgingly, and he will listen until she falls asleep on her bed, slightly wide lips parted in a pink sigh and her curls drifting over her forehead. 

He tiptoes out, slipping down the staircase to shake Percy awake. Percy always blinks at him blearily, mumbling for him to get into bed already, dammit, and Nico doesn’t like that Percy swears, but it doesn’t matter all that much when Nico crawls under the warm covers – reverse directions, of course, because Percy whines that that would be weird, Nico, come on – and breathes in the smell of salt and rust that perpetually hangs in Percy’s air. 

He falls asleep fitfully, wondering when the Guardians will discover them. His bed stands neatly to the side, unused and neat, the way Nico likes it. He feels as if, with all the rigid secrecy of Hailsham, that it shouldn’t be right for him to be so happy, Percy’s cold toes near his shoulder and the lingering sweetness of Annabeth in his nose. He blinks in the shadows, wondering if he is living on borrowed time. 

***

Luke leaves a year later, relocated to a living facility outside of Hailsham. Annabeth cries into Nico’s shoulder for a week. Nico doesn’t mind, and he knows that Annabeth did like him an awful lot. He is secretly glad that Luke is gone: the handsome blond disrupted the harmony of their trio, with Percy glaring at him and Annabeth crafting him into architectural monuments. 

Annabeth’s sketches are magnificent, and Nico knows Luke wouldn’t have appreciated them. 

***

Nico is thirteen when he realizes he is not like the other boys. 

Percy grins as he drags Nico behind one of the shrubs in the courtyard. His fourteen-year old eyes gleam and he clutches a shred of paper in his hands. 

“Travis snagged this off one of the gentlemen that come to call on Miss Hannah,” Percy says excitedly. “It’s a lady.”

Percy says this reverently, as if a lady were the most delicious dessert. Nico crosses his arm. “There are lots of ladies here,” he says, unimpressed. “Annabeth’s a lady.” 

A strange look flickers across Percy’s face. He and Annabeth bicker constantly these days. Percy no longer calls her gorgeous, but instead slams the door when he comes back from her room, flinging himself onto his bed with a huff. Nico watches this all. He can’t pretend to understand. Annabeth is easy to talk to, and it’s Percy’s problem if all they can do is argue. They still eat together and draw together and play games together in the fields, so he can’t be bothered. 

“Not like this,” Percy says, brushing it off. He unfolds the paper, and it reveals a naked woman with unusually large breasts and parted lips, her eyes narrowed alluringly. Nico stares. 

“Isn’t it great?” Percy says. “I can’t wait until I get to have a girl.” 

Nico doesn’t understand why Percy and Travis and Connor (who are twins, which is so strange and confusing and unnatural to Nico that he doesn’t like spending time with them) and Chris like looking at these pictures. He doesn’t want to touch breasts or stick his tongue in a girl’s mouth. He wants to draw pictures and cuddle between Percy and Annabeth and go to his poetry lessons. 

Nico always shrugs, and pretends not to stare at the bulge in the front of Percy’s jeans as he ogles the pornos. 

A year later, he bends over in the shower, gasping as he strokes himself to completion, head pressed against the ceramic wall. The water streaming through his messy black hair and gangly limbs that have not quite corrected themselves into working order reminds him of sea-green eyes, shifting and dancing like light in undulating waves. 

***

He knows it is coming before they do. Percy tells him in secret, at midnight when the world is dark and still. 

“I love Annabeth.” He says this simply, lips twitching with wonder. Nico doesn’t answer, because Percy has loved Annabeth since they were nine, when he pressed muddy handprints into her calico dress and gave her wilted daisy chains. Nico doesn’t answer because he has always known, has always watched them be PercyandAnnabeth, bright pieces in the same puzzle. 

“I know,” he says, and shrugs. He doesn’t know how to feel. 

“You don’t mind?” Percy asks him anxiously. “I don’t want you to feel, y’know, left out or anything.” He pauses, and glances up at him shyly beneath impossibly long eyelashes. “I wanna give her daffodils and ask her if she wants to go steady.” 

Nico coughs, trying to hide his snort. Annabeth will probably laugh at him too, giving him one of her imperious stares before smacking him on the arm. But Nico knows she loves him too, as surely as the sun rises in a haze of pink and orange each morning. Colors much too vibrant for shadowy Nico. 

He looks at Percy, face transformed into shafts of light from the candle flame. 

“Is it going to change anything?” He asks, mouth dry. He can taste the roughness of dirt, as if the bones in the ground are crumbling over his tongue. 

Percy shakes his head vigorously. “Never. You’re Nico.”

Nico grunts. He turns over, and he can feel Percy’s smile pressing into the sole of his foot. 

“Love you, Nic.” 

His murmur barely slips over the sheets, but Nico shudders and presses his head into the pillow, because no, that will never be enough. 

***

Annabeth and Percy are too bright, their happiness spilling from their insides, blinding him. They touch constantly, moving together as if they rooted to each other by a magnetic force. They are fifteen and stupid in love, eyes great and big and soft, and Nico doesn’t understand. 

“You will,” Percy says, altogether too worldly for a teenage boy, and Nico looks at him, eyebrows raised. He cannot fathom how he will love a girl like Percy loves Annabeth. There are no boys like him here, he thinks, who think about the curve of Percy’s throat and the slip of skin above his groin, slick with sweat, that reveals itself when Percy plays football in the fields. 

He wants to hate Annabeth for getting to touch him, but he can’t bring himself to resent her. He can’t hate radiant Annabeth, with her summer storm eyes and her sweet lemony smell. She is still the most beautiful thing in his world, like a work of art or the sun shifting rainbow colors through the sky after the rain.

She turns to Nico one day, sun low over the tree line as Percy wrestles with Travis and Chris. They are sitting together on a marble bench, much like the first day they met. She squints at him, and tucks an arm around his shoulder. 

“We have to leave soon, you know.” 

Nico knows. He looks straight ahead, watching the crinkle of Percy’s eyes as he laughs with the other boys. He does not want to think of them gone, his whole universe displaced. Sixteen hurtles toward them with a frightening speed, and Nico knows they will be taken away, to whatever special future awaits them beyond Hailsham. 

No one asks questions here, with the secrets being lost to the brick walls and the indistinguishable rumble of automobiles as they truck down the dusty old road. 

She kisses his temple, just above his ear. She smells of salt and lemons. Her lips are softer than, he thinks, anything. 

“We love you.” She whispers, and Nico is not sure when they became a “we,” only that they will soon be gone, whisked away like dust on a summer breeze. 

***

The last weeks of August fall away like leaves, dry and whispery. Nico feels the air press all around him, suffocating all sounds: it is if the universe knows they will leave soon and leave him alone in the moist walls of Hailsham, darkly pregnant with its secrets. 

He is always restless it seems, and Percy, though his hand presses reassuringly into the small of Nico’s back as the cars begin to trickle in, has eyes that are still filled with Annabeth’s stars. 

There is one evening when the sun has begun to settle into the pink and orange sky, and Nico is trundling past Annabeth’s dormitory. He rarely cuddles with her anymore, as her tears no longer need his shoulder to fall upon. He suddenly craves her warmth and delicate laugh, and backtracks, his fingers falling onto the cracked edge of the door. He hesitates when soft sounds leak through the wood, high-pitched, breathy sighs that have the throaty cadence of Annabeth’s voice. 

He slips open the door so softly that it barely scratches the floor. In the dim light of the room, Percy kneels before her, head between her thighs and her long, lovely legs thrown over his shoulders. Her curls are askew and her bare chest rises and falls quickly, muffled moans slipping from her mouth. With Annabeth’s fingers clutching his mussed hair, Percy’s hands grip her hips almost desperately. Nico imagines the purple bruises that will blossom there, proof of their mutual possession of each other.  
Part of him wants to retch and the other part wants to continue watching. It is so intimate that he feels a blush creep over his pale cheeks. He tears himself away, running off to his dorm, where he shakily unbuttons his trousers. It only takes moments. He comes violently, achingly. 

He wants to creep into their skin, become a part of their puzzle, and he knows that once they leave they will forget. 

***

The day is not so beautiful as he would have thought. The sky is dark and heavy with clouds, and a chill slips under their clothes as they trundle outside. Annabeth is wearing a coat that is far too large for her, with new boots that lace up to her knees. Her eyes are pink and she sniffles as she throws her arms around Nico. 

“I don’t know where we’re going…they say that we’ve been relocated to the Cottages, whatever that means. Apparently they’re near the sea and quite pleasant. Goodness knows Percy is excited,” she sighs, her curls tickling his nose. “You have to find us, do you hear? When you get out…it will only be another year, and then we’ll all be together again.” 

She gives him a watery smile, and Nico drinks in the wild hurricane of her eyes. It could be the last time, a voice warns him, but he pushes it aside. He kisses her clumsily on the cheek. 

“Don’t let Percy drown in the ocean, yeah?” He asks, his voice breaking. The other boy is hip-bumping Travis and Connor as they prepare to load into one of the vans. 

She can only nod, tears tracing down her cheeks. She will take care of him, Nico thinks. She will be the one to breathe in his smell and wake up to sunshine on his face in the morning. Percy gallops over, and envelops Nico in his bear hugs. 

“We love you so much,” he whispers fiercely. “Always. We won’t be the same without you around. You were my first friend here, and we’ll find you, when you get out. Then we can try all the things that Miss Hannah gossips about, like soda and ramen and soap operas.” 

Percy hesitates, his eyes shining. “You were my first friend here,” he murmurs softly. “When they took me from the birthing center…I thought I would never find…what I have here. You. Annabeth. Something to wake up to each day. This won’t be the end, I promise.”

Nico opens his mouth. He wants to tell him how much his heart aches to love him, how he is his anchor in this interminable sea. 

But a Guardian calls, and Percy and Annabeth turn to the van. 

“We promise, Nico!” They call, and then they slip behind the sliding doors, and the engine revs, and the sky opens up and rain coats the dusty ground. They are gone before he can wave goodbye. 

Miss Hannah sighs, smoothing her frilly apron. “More of them gone,” she murmurs, and Nico feels his heart cleaving, feels its stuttering clud, and wonders when it will stop beating entirely. 

***

End of Part I


	2. reflections still look the same to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nico savors her name in his mind, her familiarity sweet like a promise." 
> 
> Nico leaves Hailsham, and the world crumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ahem. Yes. I actually did not give up on this story, but I got to the end of this section and realized I was writing a world that was a lot more complicated than I thought. So I'm expanding it to have more chapters and more world/character building. There's some deviation from the original book's canon, so please bear with me on that. I ended up dealing with some serious health problems this summer - why there's such a delay - and was inspired to explore the ethics of healthcare more deeply than three chapters would allow. 
> 
> Note that there is an instance of language and some disturbing concepts of morality. I do not own either series, and no profit is being made. I really hope this section lives up to the first, and I will update much more quickly next time. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. xx

Nico hates the first three weeks.  
   
Truly, he hates every day, but the first twenty one of them are especially painful. He feels as if his oxygen has been removed, and he struggles to sleep without the solid warmth of Percy’s body next to his own. He can barely remember the way Annabeth smells when she wakes up, sleepy and tousled and lemony.  
   
He is losing them and he holds on to their traces, haunting the football fields and the benches in the courtyard. The Guardians don’t bother him much; he thinks they fear him, which he uses to his advantage, skipping his “Guide to Modern Shopping” class and choosing instead to watch the clouds drift across the clear blue sky.  
   
They make ethereal shapes in the periwinkle expanse, morphing and twisting. The dry September grass tickles his nose, and the sun presses into his pale skin. He lets the sensations fill him, trying desperately to feel alive.  
   
He can almost imagine the clear echo of Percy’s laughter ringing through the woods, Annabeth’s reassuring hand curled into his. He wonders where they are, whether Percy is staring in awe at the ocean, or whether Annabeth is seeing the skyscrapers she always jabbered on about. They probably have picnics in the sun and strolls through the woods.  
   
Nico misses them so much it feels like a wound. But he rolls to the side, dusts himself off.  
   
He thinks perhaps he must learn to survive on his own.  
   
***  
He befriends a shy giant of a boy named Frank.  
   
Frank has a baby face atop a man’s body, and he looks about as comfortable in his own skin as thin, spidery Nico. They bond over breakfast, when Miss Ann snaps a ruler over Frank’s knuckles for taking another helping of porridge. Frank recoils sadly, looking as pathetically guilty as a plump puppy.  
   
Nico glares at Miss Ann. “That’s for me, actually,” he snaps, and wrests the bowl away from her claw-like hands. Frank stares at her cowed face as she snorts and harrumphs away. When she’s out of site, Nico surreptitiously slides the porridge back to Frank.  
   
“Miss Ann’s a real witch,” he murmurs, and Frank smiles hugely.  
   
He’s not Annabeth, and he’s certainly not Percy, but for now, Nico thinks, he will do just fine.  
   
***  
He and Frank don’t talk about rebellion or the nature of their existence or leaving Hailsham. Instead, Frank talks about his favorite animals and his favorite foods and how he doesn’t think anyone will ever love him. Nico, frankly, has never met any boy so willing to talk about his feelings, and he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, but he puts up with the sharing for Frank’s sake, and because it keeps his mind off the darkness that threatens to creep in when he thinks too hard about the future.  
   
Hailsham feels agitated. The walls almost leak secrets, with the head Guardian and Miss Ann and Miss Eliza whispering in and around the corners. Nico has always wondered why they are here, why they draw meaningless pictures, why they shuffle them around in neat little lines that don’t mean a fucking thing when they have no way to escape.  
   
He’s angry most days, and he punches the wall in his single room until his knuckles scab and bleed. He wants Annabeth’s lips to press the hurt away, because she was the only thing that would ever calm him down, ever cool the water inside him that constantly threatened to boil over.  
   
“Everything is wrong!” He yells in the safety of the woods, Frank picking at tree bark and staring at him silently. Frank has dark, slanted eyes that always shine with a sweet innocence, matched by his large, gentle hands, and Nico feels sucked into his empathy.   
   
He flinches when the older boy pulls him into a hug, but doesn’t pull away. Frank says nothing, only making a soft humming sound against Nico’s ear and shrugging once, twice.  
   
They are used to confusion.  
   
***  
The year passes with a painful slowness. By October, the leaves are turning a rainbow of reds and oranges, their colors turning the woods to fire. Nico finds ancient Mexican effigies stashed under his bed, and refuses to look at Frank when he asks about the red rimming Nico’s eyes.  
   
***   
A year late,the day finally arrives, both terribly soon and much too late.  
   
The Head Guardian sniffles as she marches Nick and Frank and a scattering of their fellows into the lot in front of Hailsham. Her cold thickens her voice as she gives the obligatory speech, the underclassmen standing patiently to the side with wide eyes.  
   
The air feels sharp and cool on his face, stinging his skin. Frank looms to his left – the guardians were kind enough to place them together, but Nico knows that the likelihood of finding Percy and Annabeth in his new home is slim. He hopes, silently so Frank won’t feel put out.  
   
The cars trundle in, the engine popping and tripping as they rattle over the rocky drive. Nico sees 32F and tugs on Frank’s arm as the man leaps out and begins shouting directions to the Guardians. They are swept along in the bodies; Pansy and David, Eleanor and Cliff – faces he’d known for years, but none he cared enough to understand. To remember.  
   
He swallows, hard. Frank twists to fit into the door, and they slide onto polyester covers, cool metal belts clinking against one another. A lady with a sweet, open smile turns back to them, and grips one of the belts, clicking its two pieces together.  
   
“They keep you safe,” she explains. “Are you both comfortable?”  
   
Nico nods, lips drawn tight. Her curly brown hair flies about and she wears a fitted green shirt with blue pants. Nico has never seen anyone like her before in his life, and Frank stares.  
   
She laughs. “It’s okay to be a bit overwhelmed,” she explains cheerfully. “This is a big step you are making away from Hailsham. Don’t be afraid to ask questions.”  
   
Nico is shocked – questions were taboo at Hailsham, the horror of horrors. She reminds him of Percy, all openness and smiles and calm. Extending a hand, she tells them to shake it with their own.  
   
“Very good.” Her eyes crinkle. “My name’s Sally.”  
   
***   
Sally is patient with Nico as he asks a storm of questions. “Where are we going?” is first, and Sally looks at the driver, a quiet man named Aeolus.  
   
“Your new home, for a while,” she says hesitantly. “It’s called Briarley. A collection of apartments in upper Yorkshire – really quite pleasant. You’ll be with others of your kind there, and everyone will be very welcoming. All you must do is acclimate and help out with some of the community chores – no classes at all!” She smiles encouragingly, but Nico’s hackles are up. He catches the subtle ‘your kind’ in there, and he knows Sally knows he did. But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and he thinks better of questioning her. 

When the truck trundles in to Briarley, Frank has his nose pressed anxiously up against the window, his breaths leaving a spread of fogged glass. There are girls in long skirts waving and men heaving hay bales over their shoulders. There is a distant whinny from what must be a horse stable and a not unpleasant rumble of a train shuttling behind houses. Nico takes a moment to soak it in, his eyes closing as his hand presses to the window frame. 

Sally chuckles. “You can open that, you know.” 

He rolls it down hastily, letting the sun brush his face. There is a sweet smell of corn and blooming roses, and a girl laughs. Upon looking for the source, he sees a small girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Young for relocation. Her hair fans about her round face, corkscrew curls wound with daisies and forget-me-nots. She is remarkably familiar, yet he is sure he hasn't met her once. She smiles, toothy and uninhibited, and gives Nico a small wave. His fingers flutter back, heart stumbling once, twice. 

“That’s Hazel,” Sally says, and Nico savors it in his mind, her familiarity sweet like a promise. 

***  
Nico and Frank take their small bags with them as they disembark the vehicle. Argus tips his hat, gaze focused ahead determinedly. Frank reaches out, shakes his hand enthusiastically. 

“Thanks, Mr. Argus!” 

Sally tugs on his arm gently, and Argus revs the engine. They watch him trundle away in a haze of dust. 

“Frank, dear, Argus…well, he isn’t able to speak.” Sally’s multicolored eyes are sad as she watches them. “I’ll explain in due time, but we should get you settled and have a good meal.” 

The house is small, much like what Miss Hannah described as a cottage. Wildflowers spill into the cobbled path, and roses creep onto the thatched roof and white-trimmed windows. Nico thinks that Percy and Annabeth would love it, down to the pale blue paint and the warm yellow curtains. He hopes that it is beautiful, wherever they are.

Sally knocks twice, and a man answers quickly. He has salt and pepper hair and kind eyes, and Sally falls into his arms as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Nico looks away - intimacy still makes his blood run cold, reminding him of golden curls and sea green eyes, but the man reaches out to shake his hand, then Frank’s. 

“The name’s Paul,” he says, with a friendly smile, and Sally tucks her arm around him. “We care for all of the new ones. I’m sure it’s been an overwhelming morning for you two, so shall we settle in for some dinner?” 

Frank nods, eyes wide, and Paul grabs their luggage. “Come on in.” 

***  
The house is cozy, radiating warmth and love as Hailsham never did. Nico takes small sips of the stew, occasionally dipping white, fluffy bread into the meaty liquid. Frank keeps making joyful sighs as he samples the butter and steaming vegetables. Smiling fondly at him, Sally reaches for the ladle. 

“More stew, dear?” 

Frank’s eyes are shiny, and he nods. Nico thinks poor, starved Frank doesn’t trust himself to speak after her impossible kindness. They are not used to such luxuries. 

Paul leans forward, elbows resting on the table. 

“From Hailsham, is that right?” 

Nico nods. 

“They don’t tell you much there.” It’s not much of a question. Nico can feel his nerves on end, quivering. The truth is so close, he can almost taste it - 

And the door falls open, revealing the girl Hazel as she tumbles in. 

“Sally!” She exclaims. “I’m so sorry I’m late, the horses were awfully restless today. Reyna thinks a storm’s coming in, but I think they just don’t like those rascally wolves she calls pets.” As if noticing Nico and Frank for the first time, she blinks, startled. 

“Well, pardon me! I’ve gone and forgot we had company. My name’s Hazel,” she says warmly. Her eyes are striking, like molten gold. Frank’s mouth drops and his lips gape fishily. 

“Nico.” He reaches out and grasps her hand. “Very nice to meet you.” 

Her eyes run him over, and a strange shiver races down his spine. “Welcome, Nico. And who might you be?” She turns, addressing Frank. 

“Fr- Frank,” he mumbles, usually pale face pink from blushing. 

Her grin is infectious. “A pleasure.” 

She plops down on the chair next to Sally, ladling stew into her bowl. “Please, carry on,” she says cheerfully. Paul eyes Sally, and Nico can feel his ire rumbling around in his stomach. 

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Sally says carefully. “I’m sure you all could use a good night’s sleep. We’ll discuss some chores for the next few weeks. What are your interests?” 

Frank looks up, hopeful. “Could I work with animals?” 

Sally smiles. “Of course, dear. I think the vet’s looking for some extra help anyway. Nico?” 

He ponders, remembering Annabeth’s comments on his art. “I couldn’t do anything with art, could I?” 

Paul laughs. “Hailsham and their art! Well, you can help mix mediums for Dionysus. He’s a real character, but he’s always complaining about how he’s got nothing to do with his berries now that alcohol’s been banned in Briarley. We’ll talk to him tomorrow.” Nico shrugs. He doesn’t know what alcohol is anyway. Perhaps he can plot his escape to the Cottages. 

***  
Sally ushers them down a hallway to a room with twin beds. “This is all we have right now, I’m afraid.” 

Nico impulsively touches her hand. She looks up, and he hopes she can sense his gratitude. Her hand comes up, brushes the locks from his forehead. “Oh sweethearts,” she sighs. 

Nico can’t sleep for hours that night. Their room has a window that opens to the stars, and he stares up at them, their light twinkling until it’s seared onto his brain, bright and unforgiving. 

***

The next day, Sally takes him on a walk after a breakfast of porridge and coffee. It’s been sweetened with cream and sugar, and coffee tastes much better this way. She hands him a woolen coat to wear. 

“It’s a bit chilly out,” she admits. “Summer’s fading quickly this year.” 

Nico pulls it on, and they traipse in Wellies out to the street. Briarley is a collection of small houses with picket fences and roses climbing all over everything. Nico inhales, a distant taste of salt and dust roaming into his mouth. It’s fresh and messy and real. 

“Paul and I decided to talk to you separately,” Sally begins, as they reach a small path bordering a wood and a hayfield. “It’s hard enough as it is to hear, and Frank is a bit more delicate, it seems.” 

Nico snorts, coughing to cover it. He thinks it is the first time anyone has called Frank delicate over himself. 

“When you were conceived,” Sally began, and pauses, her mouth pursed against the wind, “you were made specially. From the genetics of powerful humans, with good lungs and hearts and kidneys. Good organs. Do you know what cloning is?” 

Nico shakes his head, a lump clogging his throat. 

“You were born from genes. Specially donated. Your “father” was someone healthy, powerful. Usually…corrupt. To be willing to give life to a human who is destined to die young.” 

She sighs, deep and shuddering. “When you are a year - maybe two - older, you will start your donations. It will start off small at first: perhaps a kidney or skin. Some are lucky enough to give hair. But by your second or third donation, you will give something large - a lung, heart - and you will complete.” 

She presses her hand to his. They are quiet, only the wind rustling through the papery leaves. 

“I hate this.” Sally sighs. “It never gets easier. I hope you know that if I could take it away if I could.” 

Nico picks at the sleeve of his sweater. His heart feels like a stone. 

“Who was my mom?” He asks eventually. “How…?” He has so many questions, frustration making his lips bitter and clumsy. 

“She was a birth-giver. A volunteer who carries the fetus to term. I don’t know who yours was, but -” Sally hesitates. “I was a birth-giver. We only wanted to give you peace, joy, love before you were born and brought to a babyhood center.” 

Nico exhales. He can feel a prickling anger bubbling at his skin, at Hailsham, at the lies, at the society that has trapped him in a short life. 

“Why?”

Sally stares at him, her eyes shifting. “Because they believe you don’t have a soul.” 

*** 

Frank is sobbing in his room. Sally and Paul have gone to talk to the mayor, and Nico sips at his hot chocolate. Sally made it with frothy piles of whipped cream and drizzles of caramel, and it is delicious. Its warmth sits heavily in his stomach, sweet and sad.

Hazel plops down suddenly. 

“Hey, Nico.” 

He raises his hand half-heartedly. 

She pats his hand. “It’s hard to hear the first time, but it - it gets better.” 

“How long have you known?” 

“Oh, years.” Hazel waves her hand dismissively. “I wasn’t raised at Hailsham or any other center. My birth-giver ran away with me, but. They got her.” 

“I’m sorry.” His face burns. 

“It’s okay,” Hazel said cheerfully. “I was very small. I miss her sometimes, but Sally and Paul have been good to me.” 

“They raised you?” 

“Of a sort…I lived in a government facility until they decided to relocate me. I went to a few other places before I came to Briarley.” 

“And Sally and Paul…they aren’t?” 

“No,” she said. “They just care for us. But they aren’t carers…that’s entirely different. Oh - they probably haven’t even told you about that!” 

“No.” Nico tried not to sound annoyed. His whole world had opened up, secrets and unanswered questions spilling out. 

“They care for us during our donations. There’s an application process, of course, and you get a few more years. I’ve thought about it, but I’m just fourteen. I have a few more years to decide. Rachel - she’s a friend - she works in the application process. She’s pretty special, and she works in the national art department. She even took me there once, to a museum.” 

Nico ponders. Hazel reaches over, presses her hand to his softly. “If you have more questions, Nico, I’m always happy to answer them.” 

She doesn’t seem fourteen. He blurts his next question out. 

“Did you ever stay at the Cottages?” 

She looks startled. “No - did you know someone there?” 

He nods, furiously. Her eyes dart past him. 

“I think Reyna lived there for a while. We can talk to her if you like. She’s always about, but I should warn you. She isn’t, um, particularly friendly, but I think she’ll like you.” 

*** 

Reyna is imposing, her eyes dark and steely. Her hair is braided and twisted with silver, and she has two shaggy dogs, pointed ears alert and muzzles panting. Nico swallows. 

“Who’s this, Hazel?” Her voice is sharp but throaty. She reminds him of Annabeth in some strange way - they are both powerful. A touch of wildness.

“Nico, Nico D.” Hazel sighs. “He’s new. He’s just got some questions about the Cottages.” 

Reyna’s gaze is unkind. “I prefer not to speak of that place.” 

“I just want to know where it is!” He exclaims. “I - my friends are there. I have to get back to them.” 

Reyna scoffs. “Love is pointless, Nico D. You should not waste your precious life seeking the affection of others.” 

She turns, her hair tossing. Her hand is on the door to the stables when Nico calls out. “Please!” 

“I just,” he swallows, a lump sharp like grief in his throat. “I miss them. They were my family, and I promised.” 

She looks back. “Promises mean little in our world.” Her eyes bore deeply. He stares back, desperate. A gust of wind swirls around their ankles, lifting up fur and hay and dust. Reyna’s eyes shift to Hazel, and Nico thinks he catches a twist of grief in her steely eyes. 

“Hazel,” she says. “I’ll give you the map tomorrow. You can give it to the boy if you like.” 

She is gone before he can thank her, and Hazel huffs out a quiet breath. 

“She’s sad, Nico. She’s on her way to her third donation. She will be lucky if she survives it. Life has not treated her kindly, and I -“ Hazel’s breath catches hoarsely in her throat. “I will miss her very much.” 

He says nothing. Takes her hand. Her skin is warm against his own. She’s so alive it feels unreal that her atoms were copied from another’s, that her perfect copy is existing in this world. Sipping coffee, reading, lying awake with a lover curled around her. Or old now, with soft wrinkles around eyes that could never be as kind as Hazel’s. His skin prickles. 

“Let’s go back to Sally’s,” she says, voice like a steady heartbeat. “Tomorrow is your first day working.” 

***  
end of part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hope you all liked seeing some more characters in there - don't worry, I'll explain the biology/backstories more as the story goes on.)


	3. cathedral where you cannot breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He wants to run but his heart is beating too quick, and Hazel is warm and comforting, so he presses his nose into her sweet-smelling curls and breathes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, nice humans who are still reading this! I hope it's living up to expectations - if not, feel free to let me know. This chapter was a bit of a transition chapter, so expect some more action after this. Percy and Annabeth are coming....soon. Rachel too, huzzah. Thank you, and of course I have no rights to either book franchise.

part iii: cathedral where you cannot breathe

***

He can’t imagine anyone cloning Dionysus. 

His pale green eyes are bloodshot and his stomach is soft and poking out from his flowery shirt. A bloodhound pants softly under his worktable, and it reeks of a sweet, rotting scent unfamiliar to Nico. 

“I have no interest in doing anything but wallow in my loss of wine,” Dionysus gripes to him after Nico introduces himself. Nico nods politely, not caring particularly what wine is, though he knows it’s alcoholic and made from grapes. Hailsham made it very clear that alcohol was not something allowed for its students, and now Nico knows that it must be harmful to their health. 

And who would want their precious organs to be damaged goods. 

Dionysus coughs. “You’re not to report my grievous lack of responsibility, and in return, I’ll let you mess with my inks.” 

Nico smiles carefully. “Sure.” Truthfully, it sounds too good to be true, and he hopes Dionysus isn’t joshing him. He suspects Dionysus doesn’t care about anyone enough to mess with them, so he pulls his aviator jacket - a gift from Paul - closer and offers help. 

*** 

Dionysus - or Mr. D, as he prefers to be called - has him sort jam jars and ink containers for a couple of hours before he claims to have a headache and leaves the workroom. He calls after the hound, and before he pulls open the heavy door, he reaches over and grabs a dark red ink. 

“Here you go, boy,” he says roughly, and shuffles out. Before he turns, Nico thinks he sees a flash of sadness on his face, but it’s gone too quickly to be sure. Instead of dwelling, he clutches the bottle tightly; he never wants to let go of this gift. He feels powerful again, power like when Annabeth smiled approvingly at his sketches, power like when Percy’s mouth formed a bright “o” in a moment of laughter. 

Turning from the table, he leaves to the lane, kicking aside spare grape leaves. A cobbled path leads from Mr. D’s house to the main road, which is dampened by the faint autumn mist. Every way he looks there are shadows today. Sally was right, the summer is ending early this year. There’s a bite to the air, coolness slipping against his skin and down his throat. He breathes deeply, and wonders how many shifts in color and temperature he has left. What will they take first? His kidney? A patch of his skin? He feels as if his heart should feel more broken, but there is only a strange relief. 

He has always wondered if he was all the way human anyway. 

***

His walk back to Sally’s cottage is long, but he enjoys watching the dusk settle in over the village. Yellow light glows from behind small windows, and leaves drift down occasionally on puffs of wind. There is a warmth to the town that he never felt at Hailsham, the community here unassuming and content. Children waved to him in the streets at morning, their shirts untucked and faces smeared with dirt or jelly; they are carefree and excited for school, a choice they made for themselves. 

His hands curl tightly, gripping the cuffs of his aviator jacket. A lonesomeness slides down his heart, cold and heavy - a nostalgia for the childhood he never had. Perhaps they thought it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t be registered by petri dish humans; the sadness twists into anger, low and burning in his belly. 

He is ready to run away. How do they find you? How do they keep you in reach of their iron fist, ready to snatch you up and etherize you? Perhaps Sally would help him. She was a kind woman, kinder than any person he had met, except for Percy. 

Nico decides to ask her upon his return. He takes a left turn to the trail where they spoke, however, and wanders over to the edge of the woods. Crisp leaves and hay litter the forest floor, and a heavy fog winds among the trees. With the fading light, he feels a sense of death. 

He walks forward, unperturbed. Hazel would have his map when he went home. Sally and Paul would have made a meal, and Frank would be ready to greet him with a wide smile and open arms. He could have a family, if he wanted it. Forget Percy and Annabeth somewhere across the country, and spend his precious time with people who care for him, in their own way. 

Yet he sees Percy’s eyes flash bright green and Annabeth’s smooth cheeks, and he misses them achingly. His toes are numb and he walks woodenly to the turn of the path. 

“Hello, Nico D.” 

He looks up to see Reyna’s stern face. Her arms are crossed, a fur-lined cloak framing her face, which is strikingly beautiful. Beauty that makes him want to grovel at her feet and beg for her approval. A part of him wonders if her original is a queen in a distant country or an actress with lonely men and women longing for her glance. 

She eyes him. “Still determined to find your friends?” 

He opens his mouth fishily. Her eyes are steely. “Yes. I only have what - two years? Maybe? To live my life. Being with them would make it better.” 

A dark eyebrow rises. “Do you really want to see them complete?” 

He stares. “You mean…die?” 

“Whatever you’d like to call it. We all complete, Nico. Watching someone you love fade is not as romantic as you may think.” Her voice is icy.

“Who did you lose?” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Reyna does not seem forgiving. 

Her gaze is steady and they hold a silence for a long minute. A huff of cold breath leaves her, and her eyes turn to the hay fields. 

“My sister, of sorts. Her name was Hylla, and we were cloned twins. Unusual, and rare, and we loved each other very much. 

“She completed last year. One donation was all it took. They wanted both of her lungs, and took whatever was left. She was always a good runner.” Reyna’s forehead is pinched and sad. “I do not know why I am telling you, a poor helpless child, this, but we wanted to escape. To run away to Mexico, which we had only ever read about. Hylla was always particularly adamant about escaping those that wanted to harvest us. But the night before she was to report to the center, I could not find her. She had left me a note, that said she loved me but she was sorry. That this was what we were made for and that she was glad to complete if it meant escaping our damned existence.” 

Nico scuffs his feet. “I’m so sorry.” He’s not sure what else to say, as he has never been particularly eloquent about his emotions. 

Reyna smiles in amusement. “That’s all right. I have made my peace with Hylla’s decision. At first I thought she was weak, but now I know she was trying to protect us from fearing our lives more than our inevitable deaths. I am still angry we could not have spent more time together, enjoying the simple moments, but no time will ever feel like enough time. 

“Are you ready for that, Nico? Feeling the days fall away until you are walking around a hospital wing with one kidney and lung? Watching those you love fade. Hylla saved herself from that pain, but nothing will hurt so much as losing the one you love more than life.” Her hands play absently with her clasp as she looks down. “They believe we are half-humans, but perhaps that is what makes us love so deeply. We cannot feel greed when everything will be taken from us, so all we have is want for human validation. Love.” 

She laughs, and Nico feels her grief. “It is such a human thing.” 

He cannot speak. She takes his hand and presses it between her gloved ones. “We were designed to serve a greater purpose, Nico D., not bother with the business of human affection. But we still feel. Remember that, when the time comes.” 

She releases him, and turns into the woods. Her wolves appear from the mist and follow her, panting softly. The forest soon swallows her up. 

He stares, and thinks, and then turns, to home. 

***

The cottage is glowing slightly. The warmth of the lights cause a gentle burn low in Nico’s chest; it feels like affection, and hope, and joy. Unfamiliar, as it isn't initiated by human touch but rather by the settled peace of home. 

Sally opens the door moments after he knocks.

“Hi, Nico,” she says, pulling him into a hug smelling of cinnamon and clove. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

“M’sorry.” He murmurs, and she shakes her head, smiling. He follows her into the room, where Hazel’s head is tipped back in a laugh at something Frank must have said, as his eyes are twinkling. Paul ladles soup into mugs with a pensive smile tugging on his lips, winged wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Sally goes to him, wrapping her hands around his middle, lips pressed to his shoulder. 

Nico sees; he sees so much. And his belly aches, and trembles, because their love is beautiful and it will last. When Hazel skips over to him, her arms encircling him, he sees family. Something intangible and unfathomable. 

He wants to run but his heart is beating too quick, and Hazel is warm and comforting, so he presses his nose into her sweet-smelling curls and breathes. 

*** 

After dinner, Nico lies on his bed and stares at the stars. The bright lights are scattered across the sky, a broad band of thicker clusters stretching through the middle. He wonders how far away they are, as it was something they were never taught at Hailsham. They seem innumerable; he thinks of a life devoted to counting them, documenting each one on endless sheaths of paper. It would take forever and a day, he is sure, and to endeavor to do so would be the most exquisite manifestation of hope. 

So much that he wants and so much that he will never take. 

A knock comes, and he turns to see Sally enter, a cup of steaming tea in her hands. 

“For you,” she says, handing it to him. “It’s a bit hot.” 

They sit together on the edge of the bed, Nico tracing the rim with his finger and Sally staring upward at the skylight. The silence is comfortable, edged only by a faint tension evident in the flexing muscles in Sally’s jaw and Nico’s downcast gaze. 

“You’re thinking.” She says without preamble. “Of leaving us.”

Nico opens his mouth, soundlessly, the lie catching around his teeth and lips. 

“Yes.” It feels agonizing, a snub of the kindness she’s shown him. But a soft smile lights her face, and she takes his hand. 

“Do not feel poorly, Nico. I understand. You are chasing your friends - let me warn you that escaping the system would be… a poor choice, on your part. If I could help you escape it, I would - a heartbeat, in less than a heartbeat, oh god.” Her words speed up and blur together. “But they find you. Every time, they find you.

“But if you want to live this life with your companions, I encourage it. I understand - I understand so deeply this compulsion. Here -” She pulls a crumpled photograph from her pocket, carefully smoothing it in her palm. “I was a birth-mother. I wanted so badly to keep him…” 

She proffers the scrap and Nico takes it, holding it toward the light. A small child grins toothily back at him, violently green eyes peering out behind messy black hair. His features are sweet and round, skin tan. And he is so, so familiar. 

Nico traces the skinny arms gently. The picture is faded and worn, clearly clutched tightly often. 

“You carried him?” He asks, and his heart breaks a little, because this feels like the worst kind of betrayal. Leaving Sally for the son she will never be able to have. 

“Yes.” Sally’s breath wisps away into the chilled air. “He was my only son, and not even mine at that.” 

“You and Paul…?” 

“Never.” She sighs. “They removed my uterus when I left the birthing center. We know too much and knowledge, in this world, is dangerous. 

“They watch me every day. Monitoring my care because I - who would have escaped with my baby - would be the first to aid and abet a pursuit of freedom.” Her fingers tighten around his. “If I cannot be an active player against the rules of the game, than I shall do my best to make the game the most human it can be.” 

She stands, and gently takes her photograph. “I’ll take you to see someone, Nico. We’ll get you a transfer - I know how to pull some strings.” 

She bends, pressing warm lips to his forehead. “I’m proud of you.” 

A whisper of hope, and her warmth stays with him as she exits, clutching the worn photograph of Percy in her hands. He wonders if she knows, though he’s never uttered his name or described his face. 

He wants to tell her how brave he is and how kind, how he loves Annabeth with every fiber of his being and how he is strong in ways that Nico can’t begin to understand. He wants to tell Sally that Percy saved him, in one way or another. But he can’t imagine how much it would hurt to lose a son once, let alone twice, and so he doesn’t call after her, closes his mouth and eyes, and falls under the blankets to a restless sleep. 

*** 

Sally is gone for two days. Nico works for Dionysus, collecting ink and bits of string and paper. The old man grunts and calls him Nick; he can’t imagine a better arrangement, really. Hazel is sweet and hugs him twice a day, as if she knows she must make up for a year of losing Annabeth’s embrace. 

But Frank. He does not know how to tell his friend that he is leaving to find something he has been chasing for 12 years. Frank looks at Hazel like she will complete his life more than any number of donations, and Nico isn’t sure how to explain to Frank that the possibility that he can have that too is enough for him to leave. 

So when Sally returns and tells him that she’s taking him to her friend Rachel, to get him a transfer, and that they’ll leave in five short days, he asks her to tell Frank. 

Because he’s not always brave. 

Later, Frank finds him sitting at dusk, the light drifting rosy and gray over the thorny arbor. He settles next to Nico on the small bench, his warm arm pressing close. 

“Hey.” 

Nico looks at him. Frank’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, but there is a firmness to his mouth that reminds Nico of how strong he’s grown in the year he has known him. Frank’s hand envelops his own. 

“Sally told me you were leaving.” 

“I am. It’s just - time -” He can’t seem to find the words, so he squeezes tight. 

“I know.” Frank’s gaze is distant. “The days are disappearing.” 

They sit in silence for several moments, scuffed shoes and worn trousers remnants of their Hailsham days, so recent and yet forever ago. The dusk is falling quickly, streetlights glowing with a distant lonely longing. Some inexplicable courage bubbles up in Nico’s chest, encouraging him to speak. 

“You’re my best friend, you know? Even when I was missing…them, you were the first real friend I had that didn’t make me feel like I couldn’t breathe. It’s just…they’re my oxygen, too.” A sigh, shuddering. 

“I’ll miss you terribly.” He amends, because it doesn’t feel like enough, somehow. 

“I know that, too.” Frank says, and it feels like forgiveness. “You’ll come back, yeah? To Briarley or - or a center?” 

Nico looks into Frank’s dark, hopeful eyes, and his heart stops for a fraction of a beat. “Of course,” he replies, and his throat is dry, dry like a flame. Because the future has never been so uncertain and yet so inevitable. 

He grips Frank’s hand tighter. He is learning to be open, slowly, and the next words terrify him. 

“Frank, I - I don’t like girls the same way you like Hazel.” 

Frank smiles, big and bright and beautiful, much like Percy those years ago. Something releases in Nico’s chest, again, something pure and raw opening wide. Not love so much as joy.

“I know, Nico. And - it’s beautiful, yeah? I’m not sure why, exactly, but it’s part of you. And I think that’s beautiful.” 

They sit, quiet, and Nico swears there are not tears forming in the corners of his eyes, but stars. 

*** 

end of part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some feelings about some things. First, Nico's sexuality. Please do not think I am erasing his canon sexuality by involving Annabeth. The last thing I want to do is erase the importance of Nico identifying as gay. I think I will explain more about how his love for her fits with his love for Percy in the following parts, discussing the complexities of love and attraction and whatnot involved in polyamory. (That's an aspect of Never Let Me Go, if you're unfamiliar). Please let me know if you think in any way I am being ignorant or disrespectful, as it is not my intention. Second, I do want to insert some social commentary about ethics and sexuality and death and life and souls and all those curious things, so if that interests you, hurray! If not, that's cool too. Thanks again if you are reading and enjoying this. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Never Let Me Go is a novel that addresses the idea of human cloning and organ donation in a futuristic society. I highly recommend the book or movie to understand a bit more about the content and style. This story is loosely based on the world Ishiguro created, but I will be putting a bit more detail into its structure and function. I will also be explaining a lot more about the characters' families - Bianca, Sally, their "parents" - in Part II. Thank you for reading! (:


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